preciouslambandmartyr,
by Radio Interference
Summary: For one sweet moment i am whole
1. reseolc

**bear with me.**

* * *

Do you know what a patellar tendon is?

Until recently, I didn't. Didn't care, either. But now I know and I really, really want it back.

It's what holds your kneecap in place, and also controls movement in the knee, among other things. The point is that it's important. And I tore it.

Well, I didn't tear it. Someone else did. Flesh is fallible, so I guess it's my leg's part, too. When they found me, my kneecap was in my thigh, and my shin was bending attractively at a 45 degree angle. Not to mention a compression fracture of the tibia- deep enough that the bone was out of skin and everything.

And your friend ran you over. More on that later.

It's painful enough, but the fact that it's such a terrible injury- that fucks up your muscles so bad- I probably won't be running half-hour time marathons any time soon.

You know what they'll all think. Poor Sonic, he was such a good guy. Ran fast, too.

Well, now I'm sub-sonic. There's no way I can go back the way I am.

If I can ever walk out of this stupid wheelchair.

And out of this stupid hospital.

* * *

"Mr. Hedgehog?" The nurse says.

So this is how my days go. They shoot me up with pain medication, and then when I'm so stoned on medication that I can't even feel when I have to pee (thank god for bedpans; take that as you will), I do so called "pre-hab", the kind of movement that you do at like, two angles, and then I'll probably lay around and stare at the ceiling because I still can't even feel my face and I'm high out of my mind.

Most of the time.

Today's the surgery, the day that I don't have to rely on plaster, some IV-administrated liquid that burns, and syringes up the ass to get by rolling around the hospital.

On the table now. Doctor explains to me what they're going to do. Like I understand that. Just cut me open, doc! I joke. And he laughs and I laugh except it comes out as a rattle because my eyes burn and my throat close and now my eyes close this is general anesthesia… I hope I said that right **sleepy** I'm sleepy

* * *

_On the side of the road. One leg burning like hell. Other one, I just can't feel it, I really hope that's not a bad thing. _

_Car driving away. I curse, and try to crawl at Knuckles, but pain shoots up through both legs AGH HOLY FUCK SON OF A BITCH THAT BURNS and then I just roll onto my face and scream at the pavement. And then I just cry and wait for whoever comes and notices me bleeding to death… I know he's probably as terrified as I am but he drove away. He drove away and I'm laying like a rag doll._

_

* * *

_

God damnit.


	2. fgfdgdg

**Transcript from the Jerome Ariza show, WPMZ 107.7**

[ARIZA]: …ros before hoes, am I right? Anyway. Here's what talk radio has been melting about today. Now, Sonic the Hedgehog, injured severely in a hit and run accident, guarded condition. The suspect is Knuckles the Echidna, okay? Well, I'm just saying. The mayor is up in arms, the city is up in arms, and definitely, the… well, I can't say it on the radio. The _crap_ hit the fan. And everyone seems to have an opinion about it. Hussein, you're on 107.7 , talk to me.

[CALLER]: Hey, long time listener, first time caller. Anyway, did you hear the government? Talking about prosecuting to the fullest extent?

[ARIZA]: Yeah. Knuckles, most like going to get locked up.

[CALLER]: Well, I just can't help but think that because it's, well, Sonic the Hedgehog, national hero and all… That they're just

* * *

Using me as an example."

I say this nervously, picking away invisible insects away from my fur, and scratching itches that aren't even there.

"But did you answer the question?" The prosecutor states again, flatly. "Did you not ram him with your car?"

"But I didn't ram him!" I exclaim. And the prosecutor just looks at me like I'm an idiot or something. I am. "You make it sound like it was premeditated assault or something-"

"Was it?" He says. He being the prosecutor, well dressed tiger and really tall- it's kind of intimidating when someone like that is yelling at you from across the room attempting to shove you in prison for the rest of your life.

"Objection!" My lawyer yells. Because I'm losing the case for him. "This is not a trial of aggravated assault, this is hit and run. Relevance?"

"Sustained," judge says, but the jury heard it loud and clear.

"you make it sound like it was premeditated assault"

I screwed up.

* * *

Wake up.

When I panic. I've got the worse pain in my legs. And I can barely move them. Swollen up and my head hurts. My head hurts and my throat burns and I feel dehydrated and I want **WATER**. Not the shit in the needle in my arm- gotta get that off sometime - I want to drink. I want to feel. I want to have the feeling in my body. To know I'm alive. I want life.

I want to feel something in my mouth.. It's so dry…

Ahah.

**Ahaha**

Ahhahahahahahahaha. I'm such a dirty boy It feels good, though

Soil the bed. Acrid smell fills my emaciated nose- and this actually feels good, I haven't smelled anything but anti-septic in days..

in days

i think days. what's todya? yoday. Today. oh god man. I need to get some rest, can't stand to burn like ths but **OH HEY OH GOD HAHAHAHAAHAAHA**

The creases of my legs become warm and moist and sticky with shit. No, really. And urine too- nice to see you, penis! I'm sorry I've been a little lacking.

I laugh Again because I'm fucking so high right now. Kind of sad right now how ways have been. Hop you up with medicine. Look at me, I'm shitting myself, no really, I am. What ever became of subtlety?

Subtlety about what? Ahaha. Oh my god, I'm really just fucking out of it right now.

And I hear footsteps outside. Fuckfucjfuyjcd;

Okay, just pretend you're still asleep and wet/shit the bed in the midst of being hammered out of your mind by the medicine.

Ahaha. Here comes the bedpan. I'm so awesome.

It's like I don't even care that I can't move my legs.

* * *

so much for freedom. all because i couldnt hit the brakes in time


	3. There was a moral to this

* * *

Mobotropolis supermax prison.

What the fuck? I only ran over somebody.

God, what hypocrites.

* * *

God, what a hypocrite I am.

Okay. Deep breath. Stare directly into the bed above me.

No, fuck that. Look out the barred window. Say hi to station square.

1 month in here. 1 month in here. Not even a month ad I'm losin it

God damnit.

Fucking prosecutors and fucking sonic and fucking cars fucking laws fucking everything.

Fucking fuck. I only have myself to be mad at.

Waking hour. 1 AM, mind you. But it's always fucking dark in this fucking side of the fucking prison, can't tell, no clock. Fucking no clock and I fucking hate it

Fuck.

I go and use the toilet, because I can't think straight. Pulling back foreskin, crawling inside my self to expel the toxins. To make myself better, temporary. It's useless because they'll always be urine, there's always something going to be there. Eject and eject all I want. It's an infinity puzzle. Why don't I just let them take over me, because they'll never leave me alone anyway?

But I try.

"you're so prettttty today…."

Who was that? I turn around I don't see anything. Just dark. This is when I just quit.

I give up. Fucking fuck. Forget myself. There is no me.

**"You're so pretty…"**

Who is that?

**"come closer. Close so I can feel you…"**

God fucking damnit.

**"So I can hear you…"**

I just sit down in the corner. Hug my knees to my chest and just sit there.

** "Come closer. Or I will."**

"Fuck off!" I say. A far cry some the honorable person the media sells me as. And less than one month in prison.

I feel a hand brush against my skin. My face. I jerk back and bang my head against the wall. I fall out, cursing, and I still can't see a damn thing.

**"Release me,"**

Oh my god, what the fuck?

"Release me. Temporary, but for this one moment, I'm free."

I don't believe what's happening.

My center. oh ahahahaa, man what? fuckfuckfuckufckufkcufkfuckfuclfkfuckuifuckf

My center is gone. My center is chewed up and penetrated and ruined. Like froma little tapeworm. A little tapeworm. Some parasite that no matter how many times I piss, no matter. No matter what.

forget my center. this is not happening to .e

God damnit.

I start swinging. I catch something. And I break something. My hand feels moist. I'm disgusted. I'm disgusted. I hate this.

Another swing. Another hit. Feet scrabble against tarmac. I hear doors slamming. I hear a guard running this way, too.

God damnit. God damnit god damnit god damnit.

Hate this place.

Put myself here.

* * *

"The surgery was a success, Mr. Hedgehog."

Yes.

That's all I have to say. No joy or anything. I'm better now but I'm never gonna be the same.

Because of the side of the road.

On the bright side, my leg hurts less. Doc says I should be able walk on crutches next week. Nevermind the wheelchair, I'm fine hopping like a fucking maniac- Just get me on my feet, doc!

And then I grin. And it hurts me, from the inside. You don't run back from smashing your leg in. Don't think I'll ever probably be running again.

Visitors. Yes, oh god. Interaction. I haven't socialized in probably weeks. Hope I still remember how to talk…

"Sonic!"

Tails is here first. I know he's been paining to see me. Wanting to see me. I can't even sit up in time to greet him.

"Heya, Miles." I say, putting on my best façade. I look up, and there's the rest of everyone. Amy. Sally. Antoine and Bunnie and everyone.

I feel kind of special.

These people won't care about whether I can run 0-to-60 in three seconds.

…the public does, though.


	4. rtgkvfldkfghjs

Nobody cares any more.

I guess I'm not used to this feeling. It was a tragedy. Of course. But now no one cares. It's not "Sonic the Hedgehog, one of the greatest". It's one of these hour-long true-story documentaries. It's "Poor Sonic. Had his whole life ahead of him."

Don't I still have my life?

No; I'm a cripple. They said you'd be better. Now it hurts when I move my leg, when I walk… Forget standing up for extended periods.

At least I can still shit and piss, I guess.

* * *

45 minutes. 45 minutes of reprieve, and I'm lucky to get about an hour of this shit. **AIR**. Oh god.

* * *

"God damnit, Sonic!"

That's me. That's me again.

"Will you start caring about your fucking life?"

I turn around, Amy with tears in her eyes.

But she doesn't understand!

* * *

It's really cold outside. Actually, no. I'm just really hot, or something. Prison life gets to not only you but inside you.

In more ways than one, I guess.

* * *

Door slams and I'm left just standing here on the balcony on crutches. And I've lost everything. My fame my fortune my good health my friends my feeling my

**FRIENDS?**

* * *

Your head caves in fairly easily.

Actually, no. It's just that; Well, I'm fairly surprised.

As I fall to the ground, blood pouring out from numerous dents in the front of my head, I feel feet kicking in my chest. I can't fucking breathe. I've been in prison, but this is fucking prison.

And the pepper spray and the sirens and the guards come, and I hear someone say "that's what he gets for fucking up JD" or something or something.

Or something..

I just wanted to go home. I just want to go home.

And the death comes. And she whispers to me.

"Come on, let's go. This is no place for you."

And all I can do is cry. To myself. Nobody sees anything, they just see some dead, dumb body with it's face smashed in. Eyeballs and cerebral fluid, or maybe tears? And a charming motorboat gurgling noise.

And this is when I just hang onto the coattails from her, HER? I don't know who she is, but I hang onto her like a child. Because this shouldn't have happened. And it was all my fault.

I just want to go home. Just take me there.

"Thanks," I say, and then I leave.


	5. tahW

_

* * *

_

This balcony is pretty high up.

_Maybe I could just tip over. Land on my head, maybe? _

_But then I'd still probably be alive. Would I? _

_Jump to find out._

_Wish I could jump._

_Wish I could jump._

_Maybe I can just tip over…_

_Maybe I can. _

_I think I am._

_Waitwaitwaitwait! No wait, I'm not ready!_

_

* * *

_

"_I don't think I'd be anything without two things," _

* * *

Oh gooooooood.

Reach out and grab the balcony ledge with my hand, and my grip breaks easily. So here I am, plummeting down to station square like some kind of publicity stunt gone bad.

I don't land on my feet. Or my head, as I was hoping. Took the brunt of it sideways. Maybe on my legs, I don't know. My right eye hurts and it's misty in that eye. And my head hurts and stings in the way when you swallow water through your nose. And my leg hurts.

Actually, no. My legs hurt.

Actually no, my legs don't feel like anything at all. Cause they're all the way over there.

Wait for myself to black out with one thought/fault in mind:

Why can't I just die?

* * *

_"my legs and my friends. These feet have carried me for through so many parts of my life. And everyone's been there to support me."_


	6. jhsdkjfsd

_Hey… Hey… Hey… Hey…_


	7. 7

The doctors saved me

No matter how many times I struggled.

No matter how many times I tried to bang my head against the pavement.

I really wish they would just let me die. or something.

-

-

* * *

-

I'm blind in one eye now and paralyzed from the waist down. All after-effects of a botched suicide attempt. One that, honestly, at the last moment I tried to _stop._ This isn't sad. People don't think tragedy. They think attention-whore.

Why would they? Because the public doesn't give a shit about your personal life. They only care about what you're doing for them. And I'm doing nothing for them. I'm supposed to be saving lives, instead I'm just tossing myself from high-rises.

Do you see any relevance here? I don't. Besides, you're only reading this for my own misery.

Right?

No?

I'm really dumb.


	8. 8

**Take two:**

* * *

There is a bottle of southern comfort here, but I don't think I need it. Don't like the way it tastes, either. Pour some on the floor though, to empty the bottle a little making it seem like I was drunk and didn't give a damn of my decision.

Oh, and empty the container of anti-depressants, _just in case._ Just in case. Right. Don't really take any of it anyway. But just in case.

So. Glock .17, two bullets in the chamber. But I only need one. Why do I have two?

Oh. Right. The caretaker. So they don't call 911 or anything.

I feel kind of bad for this. Hope I don't go to hell for this. If there is one.

Maybe I'm already there.

Push the red button and a horrible ringing noise fills my ears. Footsteps down the hall. Roll back a little, so you have some room to aim. Okay. The door opens.

* * *

"Yes-"

**Bang!**

I laugh a little bit. Feeling like one of the children at a shooting gallery. A giddy feeling, because you nailed it.

The nameless caretaker falls backward, face blown open like a poorly torn up box. A cat, I think? I don't know. I kind of shot her face in.

Part two.

I stick the second bullet in the barrel- I really don't know how to reload, so I'm doing this old-timey. Haha. There's something comedic about this.

Anyway. Stick the barrel underneath my eye- the one I can't see out of, maybe I can't feel out of it. Then it'd be painless. I hope.

Aim it slightly upwards. A little bit.

I wonder how fast bullets travel? I'll never know. I hope.

"Finally."

click


	9. S

_Sirens… someplace…_

I really hope this is what it's like to die. Or God's some asshole.

* * *

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit damnit.

I couldn't finish the job. Somehow. Some jerk angel was there and saved my life, or at least kept me living long enough that the suits could find me, rush me to the hospital and put me on life support.

Months later I'm still cursing that guardian angel.

So now I'm in this wonderful coma- can't walk, can't talk, can't feel anything though. My own little personal heaven. _Pretend _I died.

In Sonic-World, I can walk. I can run as fast as ever. Amy and I have a child now. Defeated Robotnik like a hero. Now I'm enjoying the sweet life. Enjoying a life.

In Sonic-World.

In real world, I'm some braindead, deaf-dumb-unable to physically function waste of fur and flesh and a room in the hospital. Someone using life support equipment, crossing their fingers that he just curls up and dies.

But I'm not in the real world. I'm in this recreation, a simulation of something great. A video game.

Funny part is, I don't like this.

Not at all.

I really wish I could just go back in time and quit. Not the suicide attempt. Neither of them. Because honestly, you don't enjoy life until it's gone.

The door opens in real-world, and guess who it is. Good friends Antoine. Amy and Tails and the whole gang.

_Hi, _I say weakly. Like they can hear me.

Like they can hear me.

They say nothing. The doctor's with them. Amy signs out a form.

_Kind of sorry this happened. _

The doctor takes the clipboard back. Moves toward me and pulls the plug.

_What are you doing?_

_Hold on a second. I want to live! I want to… I want to…_

_

* * *

_

_Nos operor ignoro quisquam insquequo is est mortuus. _

Or did I really do the right thing?


	10. 11111111111111111111111119

**Merry christmas, jesus.** **even though you got really shit gifts.**

* * *

looks like i can walk again.

looks like i will have to do a lot of running

ahaha.

but first, i have to go take a shit.


End file.
